Ex-cons say program shouldn’t post a scare to neighborhood

Published August 26, 2007

By J.B. Smith

Tribune-Herald staff writer

Mike Berglund said he understands why people in East Waco would worry about him and his housemates moving into their neighborhood. But he hopes the neighbors would extend him some understanding, too.

Berglund is a computer technician, music teacher and professional jazz trumpet player who has backed up Ray Charles and the Temptations. He's also a felon who recently served 3^1/2 years in prison for prescription drug abuse.

He lives at a transitional shelter for ex-convicts, called the House Where Jesus Shines, which is located in rural Gholson but is seeking to relocate to 1200 Clifton St. in East Waco.

Berglund says the six-month program is helping him get his life back on track and agrees with center officials that expanding and relocating the center would help more ex-convicts do the same.

'Zero tolerance'

Church of the Open Door officials and the center residents themselves say such fears are unfounded. Pastor Ronnie Holmes said the residents are referred to the program by parole officials, who weed out sex offenders and violent people.

Most of the residents have served time for nonviolent drug or property crimes. Some men are on parole, while others are free and clear. All are living at the shelter voluntarily, not by court order, so the center is not officially a halfway house.

Holmes said the men are on a strict schedule that leaves them no chance to leave the shelter unsupervised. They must hold down a full-time job and are driven to work by center vans. They eat, sleep and take evening life-skills classes at the center, and they must attend Church of the Open Door on Wednesdays and Sundays. They must turn their paycheck over to the center, which takes $110 a week for expenses, gives the men a weekly allowance of up to $40 and puts the rest into savings accounts for residents.

Leaving the center or using alcohol or drugs will get a resident expelled on the first offense. Video cameras will help the center enforce those rules, Holmes said.

"We're already so structured, and with the video surveillance, it's actually going to be safer for the community (around Clifton Street) than it is now," he said.

"We've had zero violence, zero burglaries in the area where we are now," he said. "These guys want to complete the program. They've invested part of their lives in it, and they want to make it work."

Berglund, who is from San Antonio, said he can sympathize with the neighbors' reactions.

"It's a bunch of ex-cons moving in," Berglund said. "I'd have the same concerns."

But he said the center's residents are not a threat to each other or to anyone outside.

"There are a lot of guys like me," he said. "It's not filled with people who go around raping and killing…Most of these guys are trying to get their lives together. All of these guys come back every day beat to death from hard work.

"There are a few bad apples, but even the bad apples aren't that bad," he said.

Berglund is working at a local company disassembling computers and putting them back together. He also is practicing his trumpet daily, trying to regain his "chops," the physical conditioning that horn players lose when they don't play regularly.

Four years ago, he was teaching trumpet to high school students and playing high-profile freelance gigs. He performed in Broadway musicals and played on national radio broadcasts with the Jim Cullum Jazz Band on the Riverwalk. Just before his arrest on drug charges, he played on stage with Barry Manilow, he said.

Berglund says he got addicted to the powerful painkiller OxyContin. To acquire the prescriptions, he took to deceiving doctors, then to impersonating a doctor, which got him in trouble.

He said he has no desire now to go back to a life of drugs, and the six-month program is helping him get used to society again. He hopes to go back to San Antonio after the program is finished.

"I'm cured," he said. "I'm not going back to it. I'm 46 years old, trying to get myself out of a bad situation."

Crime not city's issue

House Where Jesus Shines director Nilsa Latimer said residents usually have a strong resolve to change their lives.

"Most of these guys have good hearts but some bad habits," she said. "They're going to get out anyway. If they can get in a good program, they at least have a chance.

"This is the beginning of proving yourself. One man told me, 'This is the first time I've ever made legal money, not stealing or selling dope.' He was so proud to be working the first job in his life."

The center's plans call for a "target ratio" of one staff person per 15 residents, with additional staffing from "interns" who have graduated from the program. None of the staff has a government-recognized license, but none is required for this program, officials said.

Latimer, the director, has a certificate as a "licensed belief therapist" from a Christian training agency. She has been program director for four years and worked there several years before that, when her now-deceased husband was director.

The residents of the House Where Jesus Shines call her "Mom" and say her word is law.

"She's a toe-the-line kind of director, no foolishness tolerated," Holmes said. "The guys know she loves them and wants the best for them and isn't going to put up with trash."

The center's rules may seem extreme: No secular music, no R-rated movies, no profanity, no TVs, lights out by 10:30. Residents must attend all Church of the Open Door services and are discouraged from relationships with women until the program ends.

But resident Furman Sims said he is grateful to be in the program.

"My worst day here has my best day in the penitentiary beat 1,000 times," he said. "We want to be in this program. Nobody wants to leave this program. I love it here. It's a great experience."

Furman, an imposing man with an expressive way of talking, was sitting in the empty cafeteria of the House Where Jesus Shines after a dinner of taquitos, beans and rice. The rest of the men were in their small rooms, resting for a few minutes before the evening class on personal finance.

Furman talked about his past — a total of 15 years in prison in California and Texas in two different cases involving drug manufacturing and computer-related fraud. Before his arrest, he said, he was making a six-figure salary in a computer business in California.

What he missed most in prison was seeing his three children, ages 6, 12 and 8, and having female friends.

"There you don't get a chance to interact with females," he said. "I mean just being able to sit down and talk to them."

He heard of the House Where Jesus Shines in prison and made arrangements to come here once he was released, with nothing but $50, a suit and a bus ticket.

He said the center's environment is "nurturing," and people treat him like a human being.

"They give you what you need to make you comfortable," he said. "Initially when you get here, you feel lost and confused, but that lasts about five minutes."

Like Berglund, Furman said he has no desire to go back to his old lifestyle.

"I'm at an ideal point in my life where I'm willing to change," he said. "It's a whole new chapter. If I don't do it correctly, it's the final chapter."

He said he recently saw his kids for the first time in years and is talking with his ex-wife, hoping to reconcile. He is working as a machine operator at Time Manufacturing, and he plans to continue there.

"I look at Waco as being my home," he said. "I'll be a part of this place a long time."

He said he will be disappointed if the center can't move to Clifton Street.

"My initial response will be disappointment, but I will continue to pray and ask God to show the way," he said. "This place will not be stopped."